The Well Hole. He was a philosopher. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. Her name is Lucia, she works in the Alberti Yarn Shop, across from Florestano the Butcher!” I happily rewarded her with a shiny new Florin and sent her off. I am a man—of a sort of experience. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
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